A Story for a Hallow's End - Complete
by MudsMcGee
Summary: In which a troll named Mudmask and an orc named Bron wind up at a Hallow's End party out in the Plaguelands. Wait, the Plaguelands? Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time. Free booze, free food, everyone's wearing... masks? Huh, didn't get that memo. Oh well. Better than slinging around Undercity watching them burn that wickerman for the umpteenth time. Right?
1. Part 1 - A Party

A brief note before we start –

I would like to thank Miss Tak (Brix'tul), Jacob Sparks (Kaz'kali), Minstrel (Ra'rhuk), Myrrde (Miû), and Dressesindaggers (Elle) for so graciously letting me borrow their original characters for the purposes of this story. I hope that I have done them justice.

Now sit back, grab a drink, and enjoy the party!

* * *

"Your nose is bleedin'."

Bron's attention snapped from the gate to the troll by his side, immediately sending up a hand to his face. Something warm slicked his knuckles, a coppery sting filling his nostrils as he pulled his fist back and examined the blood. He wiped at it again and looked down at his coat, frowning. "Shit, man, I just bought this."

"An' what ya should do right after this party is pitch 'at thing in the trash," Mudmask smirked down at his friend's costume.

"What?" Bronlin splayed his palms defensively, raising his arms in the hopes that the pose would better display his point, "I don't know what you're talking about. It looks fucking cool."

"Nah, mon, it looks like ya be a kid wearin' his father's trenchcoat."

"All this coming from the 'Jamba, Voodoo-King of the West.'" Bron jeered at the troll's stereotypical witch doctor costume and shot him a snide smile of his own, "Whatever, people will get it."

"That ya supposed to be the World Shaman?" The troll cocked his head to one side, "What ya be the Aspect of again? Bacon?"

"The most delicious Aspect of them all," Bron nodded resolutely, turning back to the vine-caked gates. Even through the leaves, one could see the large house that loomed just up the path. Pumpkin lanterns lined the trail, and torches flanked each window of the manor, setting the entire grounds flickering with an eerie glow. Light shined from every room, and even in the distance the silhouettes of the company within bobbed to and fro. It looked crowded.

"You know," Bron continued, placing his hand upon the gate and giving it a push, "even all lit up like this, this place still seems pretty creepy."

"Dunno what ya be expectin' - attending parties out in a place called 'The Plaguelands'," Mudmask followed his friend through the opening and onto the path. Despite his stoic affectation, the troll still flinched slightly as the gate clanged shut.

Bron pretended not to notice, not wanting to feed into his own nerves. He sent another hand up to his nose, and was glad to find that the bleeding had stopped. "Yeah, well, it was this or sitting around 'Undershitty', watching them burn that wickerman while Sylvanas drones on about oppression and the vendors try to push that nasty food on everyone."

"Kinda enjoy the crispy little eyeball things they got at that one place," Mudmask mused, a half-smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"That... is disgusting," Bron replied, distractedly looking around. As they continued along the path, approaching the house, he found it odd that none of the party attendees were hanging about outside. This was the western part of the Plaguelands, after all. Here, the Cenarion Circle had managed to dispel most of the blight that had plagued the area. Sure, the trees were still mostly dead, and the persistent, surprise-fogs definitely lent to the overall 'heebie-jeebiness' of the place, but the air was safe. On a night like this, where the White Lady seemed constantly framed by silver-lined clouds, the chilly weather was almost pleasant.

As though to respond to his curiosity, a frigid wind suddenly raked itself across the lawn, instantly generating a plane of goosebumps along the orc's exposed arms. He shivered, looking back to Mudmask. He was wearing little, save for a kilt, an assortment of jewelry made of feathers, bone, and straw, and a rush'ka mask that he fashioned to obscure the blind side of his face. "Aren't you cold?" he asked, rubbing his hands along his forearms.

"Why? I be nippin' out?" He replied with a grin, placing his hands over his chest in a faux-display of modesty.

"It's okay, it makes you look... engaged," Bron chuckled.

Mudmask smirked, "We gonna be inside in a second, B. Try 'an keep the fawnin' over my nipples to a minimum, would ya? If there be ladies in there it'd be nice to not go givin' 'em wrong impressions." They were approaching the front porch. Three stone steps led up to a grand, dark wooden door with a large brass knocker. It was tall, tall enough that even Mudmask could fit through it without needing to duck his head. Strange, considering the house seemed to be of human make. Bron found himself wondering if the present owners of the manor had refashioned some of the construction to be more accommodating of other races, or if the door simply existed for appearances.

"Oh man, I hope there's ladies," Bron grinned, discarding the troll's advisory.

"Hope there's booze," Mudmask continued.

"I hope there's _food_ ," Bron tacked on, reaching for the knocker. He knocked three times, waited, and knocked again when no one responded. Another pause, and he looked back to Mudmask questioningly. The troll shrugged and reached for the door knob. Slowly, the two companions opened the door. A chorus of noise flowed out from the house; laughter, yelling, glasses clinking, footsteps clattering up and down stairs. Music wafted in from somewhere far away, and as Bron and Mudmask ventured into the foyer, they found themselves wading through a sea of party goers.

The brightly illuminated entry nearly blinded the two as they stepped in from the moonlit porch. Moments ago they had been shivering, but inside the air was almost hot as the crowds of people ushered through the entryway and into the rooms beyond. The ceiling of the foyer was vaulted up, up, up, and above them hung an enormous chandelier made of countless glass fragments. As Bron looked up at it, he could see lights shifting from piece to piece, making the entire surface shimmer like sunlight on water. He wondered how much the owners paid for that sort of enchantment. Below the ornate fixture, the grand staircase was split into a set of two that created a circular chamber in the middle of the room while the stairs curved up to the second floor. It housed a collection of party-goers as they made their way between floors, often stopping to chat with each other in mid-step.

So many people... Orcs, trolls, blood elves, goblins; all wearing paper masks that sported the generic faces of members of the Horde and Alliance alike. Yet as their eyes adjusted to the brightness of the room, it was clear that there were not just Horde races present. There were night elves wearing orc faces, and dwarves with big bushy beards that peeked out from beneath tauren masks. Bron turned to Mudmask to exchange a silent look of confusion, but the troll was already accepting a drink offered to him by a tuxedo-clad goblin with a paper blood elf face. He grabbed the remaining cup off the goblin's tray and handed it to Bron.

"Booze," he grinned, "check."

"I didn't know this was a theme party," Bron remarked, taking the glass and looking around. Aside from the paper masks, most people were fashioned in elegant dresses and well-tailored suits. The realization made Bron feel out of place, yet no one seemed to notice nor be bothered by the newcomers and their choice of dress. True enough, the more his eyes explored the room, the more it seemed like no one cared to pay much attention to them at all, save for another goblin that walked up brandishing a plate with two bacon-wrapped hors d'oeuvres. Mudmask seemed willing enough to accept this offering as well.

"Don' seem like these folk are much for bein' picky," he replied dismissively, ushering one of the canapés into his mouth.

"I guess..." Bron mumbled, reaching out to take from the tray. The masks, as basic as they were, made him feel uneasy. At the same time, it felt silly to be unsettled when it was unlikely that he'd recognize anyone here anyway. Neither he nor Mudmask traveled to the Eastern Kingdoms very often, much less places like Undercity or the Plaguelands. He had a couple of contacts that kept posts outside of Lordaeron, but they were all on duty that night for the burning of the wickerman. None of them would be at a place like this anyways, not with such an open attendance policy towards both factions. It was a strange sort of sight, watching gnomes make small-talk with blood elves and dwarves cavorting with orcs, but it _was_ a party, and on Hallow's End no less. If this was as strange as things got then Bron supposed he could handle it, especially seeing as the drink he had accepted seemed adequately laden with liquor.

"What was next on the list?" Mudmask looked down at his friend, "Food?"

"Pretty sure it was ladies first," Bron allowed himself a smile, tearing his thoughts away from the distractions all around him.

"Evenin' just gettin' started, boy-o," the troll's lopsided smirk melted into a grin and he took another drink, "say we take a look about?"

"Like I said, ladies first," Bron laughed and gestured for his companion to lead the way. Mudmask shook his head, rolling his eyes and turned to the doorway on their left.

With appetizers and drinks in hand, the two picked their way through the busy foyer and into the next room. It was some sort of dining area, with a long table that occupied the center of the room. Plates of food sat piled high in front of every seat- yet no one was paying attention to the personal feasts before them. Instead, most had clustered around one end of the table, a cacophony of whoops and hollers filling the room. The two friends shared a curious look before eking their way closer to find the source of the commotion. The crowd seemed to part for them as they moved, and suddenly the two found themselves witness to a rather heated arm wrestling match between a burly dark-haired orc and a dwarf that Bron would have nearly mistaken for a human because he was so tall.

Everyone was still wearing the silly paper masks, but the rest of formality from the foyer had been stripped away. Ties were loosened, buttons unbuttoned, and the boisterous jeering as members of the Horde and Alliance rooted for their respective champions made Bron feel much more at ease.

"Break his arm!"

"Teach the swine a lesson!"

"Get it! Get it!"

"Show him the might of the Alliance!"

"Victory or death! For the Horde!"

"For the Horde!" Mudmask lifted his cup, joining the chorus of cheers.

The orc and the dwarf had their fists locked together, muscles tensed as one struggled to overpower the other. But slowly, the angle of the dwarf's arm began to shift.

"Crush him! Crush him! Crush him!" the Horde-sided individuals began to chant. Now the dwarf's shoulder began to twitch, he was buckling. "Crush him! Crush him!" Mudmask and Bron joined in, reveling in the unexpected excitement.

The dwarf's fist was perilously close to the surface of the table now, sweat dripping from his brow as he strained to recover the ground he had lost. But it was no use, the orc had too much of the advantage now, and with one final surge, a mighty thump echoed through the room as the orc slammed the dwarf's hand into the table. The crowd exploded with victorious howls and disappointed booing. Mudmask raised his arms up with elation, turning back to Bron with a huge grin on his face. They shared a high five, and once again tipped back their glasses, finishing the contents.

No sooner had the two combatants departed their seats a goblin crawled up onto the table, calling for the crowd's attention as he asked who wanted to be in on the next round. "Ya gonna go for it?" Bron felt a nudge against his elbow, and he looked over to find a tall female orc adorned in a grimacing goblin mask. Gold eyes peered at him through the holes in the mask, Bron would have liked to say it seemed like she was smiling at him but he couldn't be sure. "You should try it, I bet you could win."

"Maybe after a few more of these," Bron offered a friendly smile of his own and pointed to his cup. As he raised it he was surprised to feel the sensation of liquid sloshing around within the glass. Looking at it, sure enough some of the booze was still hanging about at the bottom, so he raised it to his mouth and finished it. The fluid burned but the taste was lightly sweet, almost like honey.

"Later, then," her voice sounded disappointed, but there was something definitive about it. Bron wondered if perhaps he should have stepped up to the challenge, but his attention was torn away from the matter when he looked up and realized Mudmask had vanished. The orc turned around sharply, eyes scanning the crowd. How had he gotten out of sight so quickly?

Towards the back of the room there was another door; bright light filtering through the gaps in the edges. He watched it swing open as a cluster of guests stumbled from it and into the dining hall, and beyond he could see Mudmask's white-haired head looming above the other occupants of the room. Bron let out a huff of relieved air; he was lucky the guy was so tall, it always made him easy to find. He turned back to the woman, meaning to excuse himself, but she had already returned her attention to the new contestants of the arm wrestling spectacle.

Getting out of the crowd seemed a lot more of an ordeal than getting into it. Bron had to shove past several enthusiastic spectators in order to reach the door, and even then he nearly ran over a goblin as it darted by with another serving tray. When he pushed through the door he found himself in a kitchen, eyes immediately falling on a grandiose buffet set up in the center of the room.

It was an impressive sight - trays of meats lined the edges of the table, some presented in thin slices, some glazed, some cut into small cubes, some still steaming with heat. There were cured fans of bacon, little sausages skewered with sticks, massive kebabs stacked with varying samplings of everything on display. As incredible as it was, it was the centerpiece of the smorgasbord that demanded all the attention - a massive hulk of a roasted boar was laid out in the center of it all, brandishing a shining red apple in its jaws. Truthfully, the warm, salty, smoky aroma that filled the air could have come from any number of the offerings on the table, but to Bron it came from nothing but the magnificent boar at the center. He took in the sights and smells, wondering where he should start, until he heard voices call out from the other side of the kitchen.

"It's Brab!"

"Hush, don' go callin' him that to his face!"

Bron's attention was torn away from the buffet. At first, his eyes found Mudmask, looking at him with a passive look of amusement as he beckoned the orc to come over. The new voices belonged to two younger trolls. Unlike the other patrons, they also seemed to have missed the memo about the paper masks, and as Bron got closer he realized that he vaguely recognized them.

"I thought that was 'is name?" Said the larger of the two trolls. His arms, legs, and head were sticking out from a mess of cardboard boxes, all taped together and plastered with little plastic gems.

"Nah! S'Bran... somethin'," argued the other. He was purple-skinned, with a lop of green dreadlocks pinned atop his head. Unlike his companion, he didn't seem to be wearing a costume at all, unless one counted the peculiarly out of place moustache that sat under his nose.

"But that be what Muds been sayin' his name is. Confirmed it. I asked." The dark blue troll nodded his head resolutely.

" _Bronnn_!" Mudmask announced loudly in greeting, grinning with a full cup in hand, "Surely ya remember Kaz'kali and Brix'tul?"

"Yeah! I remember," Bron looked back and forth between the two of them, brow furrowing slightly, "What are you guys doing all the way out here?"

"Well, s'a party, en't it?" Brix'tul shrugged indifferently, "Better 'en sitting 'round Undercity."

Kaz'kali nodded exuberantly in agreement, "Too many deaders for Brix's likin'."

"Aye, but then where's ya costume, mon?" Mudmask chided the shorter troll.

"Ey! I'm wearin' a costume!" Brix'tul pointed doggedly to his face, "I got a moustache! Y'know, cuz I'm a… moustache… guy."

"Uh…huh," the smile left on Mudmask's face was not the most convinced.

"Guess what I am!" Kaz'kali interjected loudly, an excited grin on his face. Mudmask and Bron stood, mouths hesitantly open as they shot each other questioning glances. Before they could hazard to make their guesses, the younger troll pulled one of his arms into the recess of the box. There were several muffled thumps as his elbow hit the interior during his rifling about, knocking a few of the plastic gems free of their bonds and sending them to the floor. Eventually his arm emerged from the hole; fist clenched as he struck a pose and held out his arm. Playing along, Bron lifted his open palm to receive the offering: two screws, an unwrapped piece of candy, and a crumpled bit of paper.

"Uhhh…" Bron stared at the 'loot' on his palm and looked back to the grinning troll, Next to him, Brix'tul silently waved his hands to get the orc's attention – he was mouthing a word that Bron couldn't quite make out.

"…Bling...tron?" Mudmask pulled the word from the shorter troll's gesticulating.

Kaz'kali's face lit up, "Five-thousan'!" he confirmed, turning to his friend to land a punch on his shoulder, "See, mon! I tol' ya people'd get it!" Brix'tul rolled his eyes. Kaz was positively beaming with pride, and suddenly he pulled his arm back into the hole. "An' that's not all!" This time, when his hand reappeared it was brandishing a flask.

"Bringin' the party _and_ spikin' the punch, that's what I like seein'," Mudmask smirked in approval. When Kaz'kali held out the flask in offering, Mudmask held up his cup to receive it. It was to Bron's surprise that he was already realizing just how foggy his head felt; he had a notion that the drinks at this party did not necessarily require extra help.

It _was_ an odd coincidence, finding two familiar faces so far away from home. Bron wanted to feel glad for it, but so far their unexpected rendezvous only made him feel more out of place. It wasn't often that Bron was witness to his friend hanging about in the presence of other trolls, in fact most of the time Bron tended to forget that Mudmask was a troll at all. But in front of Kaz'kali and Brix'tul, he seemed to become… _more_ troll-like, somehow. Bron could hear it in the way his accent deepened, and there was an air about all of them that made Bron feel as though there was some sort of inside joke between them that he was not privy to. A growl within his stomach served to distract him from these thoughts, and he looked longingly over his shoulder at the display, still vastly untouched from the look of it. Somehow it seemed as though the enticing aromas from the buffet had only accentuated themselves since he'd wandered into the kitchen.

"Ya didn' see Elle while ya were walkin' through, did ya?" Brix'tul spoke up again, looking at Mudmask.

"Nah, haven't seen 'er," the older troll took a draw from his cup, shooting a curious look to the contents, "but we just gettin' here, so that en't saying much."

"Thought I heard her sayin' somthin' about goin' to chat up some cute bloke…" Kaz'kali replied with a teasing smirk.

"She didn'!" Brix'tul snapped, shooting an insecure look over his shoulder, eyes scanning through the intermittent clusters of people.

"Ey, yeah, big tall fella, piercin' blue eyes," Kaz persisted.

"Whatever," Brix'tul crossed his arms, trying to appear indifferent. "Should prolly go look for her, anyhow."

"O'course, o'course, we'll find her, Brixy. A'fore some strappin' elfie get to pickin' her up…" Kaz gave his companion a reassuring pat on the shoulder before once again addressing Mudmask. "Muds, mon, feel like helpin?"

Mudmask's focus had seemingly been fixed on depleting the contents of his cup, but he snapped back to attention at the sound of his name. "Aye, sure, we can do a look 'round," he gave a lopsided smile. "Bron, ya game?

Bron shot a pleading glance to the food in the center of the room. "Iiiiii… think I'm going to hang back a bit. Get some grub, ya know?" The resulting expression on the troll's face was frustratingly unreadable. At first Bron thought he almost looked disappointed, which only made him feel more resentful of the situation. "I'll catch up," he added, attempting to sound reassuring.

"We'll take good care o'yer pal in the mean time," Kaz'kali smiled.

"Right, sure," Bron said, unable to help the consternated furrowing of his brow, "You guys have fun."

Mudmask was squinting at him, Bron could feel himself being stared at and he pretended not to notice. He continued to pretend not to notice as Mudmask and the two other trolls held a brief and hushed exchange that ended with Mudmask waving his hand dismissively in Bron's direction. Whatever, he had a growling stomach to sate. He gave them a parting wave and headed to the buffet. When he turned back again, they were gone.


	2. Part 2 - A Drunk Troll

This night was turning out far better than expected. Mudmask hadn't been the most thrilled with the notion of attending a party in such a questionable location, but he'd been even less enticed at the prospect of spending the night stuck in Undercity with a slew of Forsaken. When it came to parties, the troll's requirements were few: free booze and a lot of it tended to do the trick. He didn't much care for dressing up, nor did he enjoy large crowds, but if that was the price he had to pay to get himself drunk, well… there were worse things.

But now there were familiar faces here – sure they were inebriated, loud faces, but that only made Mudmask feel inclined to catch up. He'd managed to polish off what was left in his cup just as he followed the two younger trolls into a sitting chamber, which was just as well as this was the room that housed the bar. Folk sat around, milling about with glasses in hand, still all wearing those ridiculous paper masks. He was glad that Brix'tul and Kaz'kali hadn't succumbed to playing along with whatever silly little theme this party had.

Like many of the rooms Mudmask had passed through in the house, this one was very spacious, with lit candles lining the walls. Behind the bar, an expansive set of windows looked out into the forests of the Western Plaguelands. The trees were highlighted in the silver glow of the moon; everything out there seemed so still in comparison to the bustling party. If there were any signs of life out there, they were hidden well within the darkness.

Mudmask was not paying attention to the view however. Instead he made his way to the bar, intent on refilling his cup before they continued their search. A young blood elf woman stood behind the bar, theatrically filling the glasses of those that approached. Her style of dress made him think of pirates. She even sported an eye patch draped over one eye; a detail that made him smirk as he hardly believed that she actually needed it. She noticed the troll's approach and broke into a wide grin.

"Well fancy seeing you here!" She greeted him chirpily.

It was then that Mudmask realized two things. The first was that this girl was not wearing a paper mask. The second was that he recognized her. "Elle! Girlie, we were lookin' for ya!" Perhaps it was the alcohol that was swilling about in his system, but his reaction came out more enthusiastic than he had intended. Still, he was pleased to see another friendly face, especially one brandishing libations. The "big tall fella with piercin' blue eyes" was standing next to her, and Mudmask recognized him as well.

"Mudmask, it is good to see that you have found your way to this gathering," Ra'rhuk nodded to him welcomingly.

"An' a Rock!" Mudmask opened his arms in greeting to the death knight, "How did ya lot even wind up all the way out here?"

Ra'rhuk's answer was interrupted as Brix'tul and Kaz'kali joined them at the bar. "Big handsome fella, ya said," Brix'tul chided, all the while shaking his head at the in-tow Kaz'kali. "Pretty set a'blues. Shoulda figured."

"Well, s'true, isn't it?" Kaz motioned towards Ra'rhuk.

Ra'rhuk wore a ghost of a smile, "I do not know if I would personally call the color of my eyes pretty, but I appreciate the compliment."

"Brix been thinkin' there was some guy chattin' up his girlie," Mudmask smirked, leaning an elbow on the bar. His head felt oddly heavy.

"We were speaking with one another, yes," Ra'rhuk nodded contently.

"Rock's been keeping the drinks cold," Elle explained.

"An' you the one on bartendin' duty?" Mudmask asked.

"Well someone has to do it correctly," Elle shook her head, smiling, "They've been pouring weak all night." To fully demonstrate her prowess, the elf lifted up a handle of rum and shook it at Mudmask enticingly. He willingly held out his cup while she poured.

"Knew there was a reason I liked ya, girl," he offered a wink, "So ya know the fellas runnin' this shindig?"

"What? Ah, nah," Brix'tul shook his head, "we're party crashin'."

"We were actually quite stealthy," Ra'rhuk disclaimed.

"It was harder convincing Brix it was a good idea than actually sneaking in," Elle shot her partner a knowing smile.

"Whatevah," Brix'tul crossed his arms, staring down at the floor as though there was something interesting to see, "wasn' that hard."

"Right, ya throw the words 'free drinks' in 'ere and suddenly he's all 'when we leavin'?'" Kaz'kali grinned.

"Can't blame him, s'been a good deal so far," Mudmask smiled and raised his cup, when he lowered it again he was surprised to find he had already emptied his refill. When he looked up, Elle was preemptively holding out her bottle to him, recognizing his predicament. He wanted it, but he hesitated.

"I should maybe get to findin' where Bron wound up," Mudmask shoved himself from the bar, swaying slightly. "S'been a grip since we left 'im."

"Ahhhh, ya know where he is," Brix'tul gestured flippantly, "Prolly still chowin' down at the buffet."

"Don' wanna get between a mon and his food," Kaz nodded knowingly.

"Ya sure ya en't just talking about yaself?" Brix'tul asked his companion.

"I'm sure he'll find us when he's done," Elle carried on, continuing to hold out her bottle of liquor in offering. Without thinking, Mudmask extended his hand with the cup and watched blankly as she filled it. He continued to stare at the amber colored liquid for several long seconds, feeling the familiar sense of stupidity that accompanied the onset of drinking.

Brix'tul and Kaz'kali had elapsed into bickering over whether Kaz ate too much food or Brix too little. Mudmask watched them in idle amusement as he sent his hand to pat along the side of his kilt, searching for the singular pocket that the garment supported. When he found it, he fished out a small leather pouch and carefully withdrew a sheet of rolling paper and a pinch of tobacco. With fingers habitualized by years of practice, he rolled himself a cigarette while scarcely taking his eyes from the two arguing friends. He placed it between his lips for storage as he folded the pouch up again and returned it to the pocket, finally looking around. No one else was smoking indoors – he smirked, no one was doing much of anything with those ridiculous masks on.

"M'gonna pop outside for a smoke," he interrupted the squabbling pair of trolls and pulled himself to his feet. "Elle, girl, gimmie a run-down o'the proceedings when I get back? Wouldn't wanna miss anything interesting." He turned back to head towards the kitchen, but was suddenly held by a large hand wrapping around his wrist.

"I do not think you should wish to go outside." Mudmask jumped, whirling around to find himself staring up that the death knight he had come to know as "Rock." The Drakkari had never made efforts to touch him before – his hand was freezing, even for being undead Mudmask was ill prepared for how frigid his grip was.

"What?" Mudmask's brow furrowed, and he wrenched his arm out of Ra'rhuk's grasp, "What d'ya mean? Why?"

"It is… unsafe," the large pale troll replied, face unnervingly calm as it always was.

"M'just goin' out for a puff, Rock. I think I'm gonna be okay," Mudmask reasoned, still tense from the surprise.

"It would be an irresponsible judgment on your part," Ra'rhuk continued, slowly moving himself between Mudmask and the door. "Notice how no one else is stepping outside? This is the Plaguelands, there are dangerous things out there, and we would not want you to come to harm."

Mudmask frowned. He wanted to protest, wanted to explain that _he_ was going to become a dangerous thing if he didn't have a damn cigarette sometime soon, but he also didn't want to make a scene, especially in front of the others. Ra'rhuk had never shown any sign of apprehension toward him before, even the grabbing of his wrist had been more an act of authority than aggression, but it still made him feel… uneasy. Mudmask took a step back, he'd forgotten just how _tall_ Ra'rhuk was.

"A'ight, mon, a'ight..." he lifted one hand defensively while the other removed the cigarette from his lips and tucked it behind his ear, silently promising himself he'd get to it soon. "So, what happens when people gotta like... go outside? Ya know, drain the dragon? Splash the pirate? Lower the water level?"

"I am unsure of what you are referring to," Ra'rhuk replied flatly.

"Means pissin'!" Kaz'kali paused from teasing his friend in order to interject.

"Oh oh!" Elle chimed in as well, "They have toilets here! I found one upstairs!"

"They have _what_?" Brix'tul regarded the elf as though she were speaking a different language.

"Like... _indoor_ outhouses," she explained patiently with an amused smile.

"That's a _thing_?" Kaz'kali gaped, looking back at the other trolls. Mudmask shrugged, sharing the bewilderment.

The blood elf shook her head, laughing. "Upstairs," she repeated again to Mudmask, pointing across the room, "that door takes you back to the foyer, head up the steps, take a left, it's like the third door down, I think."

"Tell us what it's _like_ ," Kaz beseeched earnestly, placing a hand on Mudmask's shoulder.

Mudmask chuckled, trying to sound reassuring, "If I make it that far, I'll let ya know."

Setting off in the direction Elle had instructed, he weeded his way down a crowded hallway until once again the chandelier from the foyer was shining down on him. People still milled about in the vestibule, though the numbers seemed to have thinned somewhat since their arrival. He debated briefly with himself as to whether he should slip out the front door so he could attend to the cigarette pinned behind his ear, but he thought better of it as he remembered Ra'rhuk's warning. If he was going to have to piss in a room, he may as well smoke in there too. He trudged up the set of stairs to his right, feeling oddly exhausted as he did so.

The second level was much quieter, in fact there were no guests up there at all. It was darker too - the scant few candles along the wall flickered dimly in their sconces. He wandered down the hall to the left, reflecting on how nice the silence was. His hand had just reached out for the handle of the third door when that silence was broken by the loud creaking of hinges. Down the hall, another door swung open and a slender female troll slid out from behind it, taking care to at least close it quietly. She wasn't dressed like the other party guests at all - instead of a formal dress she was covered in a greenish jumpsuit with patterned spots. The row of quills sewn down the back made it quite the impressive murloc costume. Despite his initial confusion, Mudmask broke into a smile. Even if the girl had been wearing a mask he would have recognized her. Her dark fur and bright red hair were enough of a giveaway even amidst the dim lighting.

"Miû?" He squinted, hardly trusting what he was seeing.

The girl whipped around, bright eyes wide with surprise. "Muds?" her expression elapsed into a relieved grin and she walked towards him. "Oh I'm so glad it's you!"

"Miû..." he said again, "Girl, what are ya doin' all the way out here?" He reached out a hand, seeking some confirmation that she was real and not simply some drunken illusion. She slid into his arms and hugged him in welcome. She felt cold, as though she had just come in from outside, but still her touch managed to make him feel warm. After a moment he pulled away slightly so he could look at her. He gently touched a hand to her face, still not believing his luck.

"I've been exploring," she explained excitedly, looking up at him with a mischievous sparkle to her eyes. She looped one of her hands into his, giving it an imploring squeeze, "I'm happy you're here, I wanna show you something."

"That so?" he asked with a sly smile, forgetting his original question, "what sort of thing?"

"I'll show you when we get somewhere... private." She gave him a wink and playfully tugged upon his fingers, "It's a private sort of thing."

It was so odd, finding her here. He knew it was a strange sort of coincidence, and an unlikely one on top of everything. But here she was all the same, eyes shining like fire, looking as beautiful as ever. There would be time for questions later, for now the hallway seemed to be spinning slightly, and the way she looked at him sent a small shiver down his spine. She tugged upon his fingers once more, pulling him towards the hall. "C'mon," she whispered playfully, "it'll be worth it."

With little resistance Mudmask began to follow the girl into the shadows.


	3. Part 3 - A Paranoid Orc

Since Mudmask's departure, Bronlin Ok'pug had managed to consume an impressive amount of food. Too much in fact, which was the reality Bron was facing as he placed a hand on his stomach and eased himself to his feet and away from the feast in front of him. He reached out for his cup on the table, downing the contents. His head was swimming – he would have thought that for all the food he had eaten it would have buffered some of the liquor from his system, but the slight turning of the room as he stood told him that he had only succeeded in getting more drunk.

How long had he been sitting there? Enough to make a small dent in the trays from the buffet – not that one could really tell, the attendants had been good at restocking the spread. The traffic of guests in the kitchen had thinned substantially, and not once had he seen any hint of his friend's return. Bron decided that he should wander about, try to mingle. He was bound to run into Mudmask sooner or later anyhow.

The orc stumbled slightly, catching himself on the doorframe as he wandered back toward the dining room. The arm wrestling tournament was still underway. A match had just ended – clusters of people were parting to let the prior contestants clear themselves from the table. The rest of the crowd stood milling about, many taking bets or encouraging each other to volunteer next. Bron's eyes scanned the room on the off chance that Mudmask had found his way back, but the troll was nowhere to be seen.

"I think it's your turn." The voice was in his ear; he jumped and whirled around. Two gold eyes peered at him from behind a grinning goblin mask. The tall orc woman from before was standing beside him, close enough that he would have been able to feel her breath on his face – if her mouth hadn't been concealed.

"What?" Bronlin croaked.

"The arm wrestling match. It's your turn," she gestured, extending her arm to the open seat at the table. Across from it sat a large draenei, face obscured by a paper orc mask brandishing a mocking expression. He was a formidable looking fellow – bulging arms stretching out the sleeves of his shirt, his neck nearly as thick as his biceps. A shock of vibrantly blue hair flowed out from behind the crest of his forehead, tied back in an intricate braid.

"I bet you can beat him," the orc beside him encouraged in her silky voice, placing a hand on his shoulder. "He's been drinking all night – too cocky. He deserves to be taught a lesson."

Bron stood hesitantly for a few moments, eyes flicking from the orc to her hand to the draenei and back again. The draenei was big – easily both taller and wider than himself. Beating him would be impressive, sure - but unlikely.

"I should really go try to find my friend," Bron uttered.

"Your friend is fine," she soothed, "saw him head upstairs with a lady friend - young red-headed girl, tattooed face - they seemed pretty... happy," she giggled and he felt her fingers squeeze at his shoulder insistently.

"You mean Miû?" Bron furrowed his brow, how is it that she was here as well?

Around him, people in the crowd began to chant; "Chall-enge! Chall-enge! Chall-enge!" Bronlin looked up to find that everyone was looking at him, eyes glinting hungrily behind their masks.

"You can do this," the orc continued, her voice astoundingly clear amidst the cheers and clapping. "One round, then you can look for your friend."

Bron finished the contents of his cup, head swimming. "Okay, okay..." he nodded, letting the alcohol sway his decision. The crowd lifted their arms and howled in excitement.

Suddenly he was being pushed forward by a dozen hands. He plopped down heavily in the seat, fixing his opponent with a determined grin. If the draenei was smiling, there was no way of knowing. He said nothing, but with a stiff sense of formality he leaned forward thumped his elbow down upon the table and offered his hand. Bron steeled himself and encircled the draenei's hand in his own; it was oddly cool to the touch.

The goblin who was moderating the matches lugged himself up onto the table, hovering his hand over the two competitors. "All right, fellas! Make it count!" His small eyes passed over each of them and then he shouted, "Three! Two! One! Match!"

The strain on his muscles was immediate. Bron wondered right away if he had made a mistake in accepting the challenge. The draenei's forearm was longer, which already put Bron at a disadvantage. As the seconds passed, neither of their positions had budged much at all. The draenei held his position with a stoic silence, bright eyes never leaving Bron's face even as the crowd persisted in their whooping. He couldn't be sure how long their initial stalemate lasted, but suddenly – _slowly_ , Bron's hand began to push forward. A slight trembling of the draenei's muscles exposed the first signs of his fatigue. Gritting his teeth, the orc pushed harder. The crowd's cheers grew louder.

"All that drinking doing you a disservice, eh?" Bron teased, hoping to elicit a reaction. Yet the draenei still said nothing as his arm continued to yield backward. It was then that a strange thought popped into Bron's brain: all night this draenei – these people had been wearing their masks, but there were no mouth-holes to drink through. He looked around, noticing how everyone was holding cups, but no one had lifted their masks to drink. The only faces he'd seen all night were those of Mudmask, Brix'tul, and Kaz'kali. Mudmask he'd witnessed drinking, that was no surprise. Kaz'kali had that flask, Brix'tul had a cup in hand… but had he actually _seen_ either of them take a drink? His memory strained but the evening's events were covered in the fog of his own alcoholic excursions. No, he told himself, not once had he seen anyone raise a glass to their lips.

More troubling thoughts began to filter in through the fog. The unlikelihood of running into the two trolls from Orgrimmar flicked at the back of his mind. And then he began to consider the buffet, and how he had feasted and dined and indulged and yet none of the food ever seemed to diminish. Another look around confirmed there were people holding plates of food but no one was eating it. No one. What was happening? Had he really drank so much? Was his paranoia nothing but a side effect of the booze? …Who had kept refilling his cup anyways?

Even during these concerning revelations Bron had managed to maintain his lead over the challenger. The draenei's arm was bent at a discernable angle, and Bron was driving it further and further back. The noise in the room swelled as the observers grew more excited. This… was unlikely too, right? This draenei was _huge_ , he should have been putting up more resistance. Yes, there was sweat on his brow, and his shoulder was shuddering, but somehow it just didn't seem like enough. This should have been harder, _hells_ – he should have been losing. In order to test his theory, Bron subtly let up on the amount of force he was applying. It would have been enough of an allowance for the draenei to start tipping the scales in the other direction ... but nothing happened.

"Are you… letting me win?" He asked in a voice so low that at first his accusation seemed lost amidst the noise around them. The draenei offered no words, but his hand clenched itself even tighter around Bron's. "I mean it, man, are you letting me win?" Bron repeated. The draenei's arm stopped its backwards decline. Bron's eyes were locked with his; in the dim light they seemed to glow even brighter.

"C'mon, what is this?" Bron persisted, trying to keep his voice down, hoping he sounded more angry than nervous. "Someone pay you to throw the match? Why are you doing this?" No response, those same blankly glowing eyes. "WHY?" he borderline shouted. Now people were taking notice that something was amiss. Bron's gaze darted around, following new voices.

"This is a fracas not a verbal debate! Finish him!"

"Finish him!" rose up the chants of several others.

As though on cue, the tension in the draenei's arm tensed and once again Bron found himself shoving back. The noise of the crowd swelled with reignited vigor as the two contestants continued their struggle. Even with the draenei's newfound effort, Bron had too much of a lead. This guy was throwing the match, and he was sure of it. Frustration was quickly trumping his sense of fear. Whatever game these folk were playing at, Bron wanted no part of it. What he wanted was to get out of there, find Muds, and then get as far away from this house as possible, arm wrestling be damned.

"All right, man, this is how you wanna play?" Bron fixed his eyes on the two glowing holes in the orc mask. He wanted to rip the disguise from the draenei's face. He wanted to crumple it in his fist and then punch whatever nose was concealed beneath it. Instead, in a moment of impulse, Bron let his arm go completely limp. The surprise of it was enough to take the draenei off guard, and the orc's hand was catapulted backward, slamming into the table with a resounding thud. The crowed wailed in disappointment.

"THERE," Bron got to his feet quickly, slapping his other hand on the table. "You got me, man! You got me! I shoulda known better... too much booze, you know what I mean?"

There was a discernable shift in the sound from the crowd - the enthusiastic cheering melted into an ominous howl. They were booing - and as Bron began to look around he noticed it was not just the draenei who kept his eyes fixed on him. Everyone was staring, eyes peering hatefully from beneath those stupid, grimacing masks.

He raised his hands defensively, "C'mon, dudes... it was a stupid competition. I just-" The jeers and hisses only grew louder, swallowing his words. He took a step back, and it was with an unnerving sense of horror that nearly everyone in the crowd took a step towards him. Bron's heart began to race. Was that real or had he imagined it? He continued to edge his way towards the door that led to the foyer. Again the mass crept forward in eerie unison.

"Rematch!" A voice called out.

"Uhhhh," Bron's back hit the wall and he began to slide along it, hand blindly groping for the doorway.

"Rematch! Rematch!" Other voices began to chime in, until everyone was barking out the words.

"Iiii'm... gonna pass on that, guys..." Bron tried to speak over the noise but it was of little use. They persisted with their chanting like a mantra, and continued to do so even as Bron's hand hit the door frame and used it to wrench away from the strange sight and pull himself around the corner.

The foyer was disturbingly devoid of patrons in comparison to their arrival. No servers wielding trays, no clusters of chatting guests collected on the stairs. Even the light from the chandelier had dimmed. Bron looked up towards the second floor, taking a moment to cautiously snap his attention back to the dining room. He could still hear a volley of voices, but no one seemed to be following him. The orc woman had mentioned that Mudmask had gone upstairs with a girl. ...Miû. It was another coincidence, another red flag - how could he have so casually dismissed it before? He wasn't sure how much he could even count on that information being truth, but still he placed a heavy hand upon the bannister and quickly pulled his way up the stairs.

At the top he was met with a long, dimly lit hallway that stretched out in two directions. Elegant, white doors lined both sides of the halls, each one sporting large brass knobs. It was eerily quiet and far less well lit. Bron peered cautiously into the darkness, but already it was clear that there were no guests here either. At this point, being alone came as somewhat of a relief.

Venturing down the hall to the left, Bron listened intently for signs of life behind the doors. "Muds?" he called out in a low whisper. Nothing but silence answered him. "Muds," he tried again as he walked further along, "Listen dude, if you can hear me, stop thinking with your dick and get out here." More nothing. As he passed the third door on his left that he heard a loud thump. "Muds?" He asked again, whipping around to face the door. Immediately he turned to grab the knob; the metal was so cold it felt as though it were coated in ice. When he tried to turn it, it wouldn't budge. No yielding, no jiggling, it was as if the door was simply a part of the wall.

Another clunk answered his attempts. "Muds? Is that you?" He whispered into the crack of the door. There was silence, and then a scraping sound, soft at first, then growing louder as though something was being dragged towards the door. Bron's heart was quickly sinking downwards toward his stomach. He was about to call for his friend once more when he heard a new sound from deeper within the room - a giggle. A female giggle. He frowned and slammed his fist upon the door with a dull thud.

"Dammit, Muds, this isn't the time for fucking around! We need to talk, I need to know if you've seen anything... weird." Another giggle answered him, louder this time. "Yeah! I'm sure he's being real fucking funny in there," Bron scolded the white paint, "Can you just open the damn door?" His ears were straining to hear anything, but they were met with silence.

"I mean it! You don't open this door and I'm punching through it, man just watch me!" He paused. Nothing. There was nothing and then... another laugh, this one much closer to the door. "Uhhhhhhg you are such a fucking selfish fucking asshole!" He rapped his fist against the door several more times out of frustration. Bron's shouting had grown loud enough that he barely registered the creaking of hinges down the hallway. Even so it still took the sound of a voice to wrench his attention off the door in front of him.

" _WHAT_ ," came an elevated whisper from three doorways down, " _K'vaas a'vekk_ the amount of noise you make! What do you want?" Mudmask stood peering halfway out from his doorway, mouth turned up in a snarl at the orc who had been making all the racket.

"Shit, man, there you are," Bron's tone immediately gave way to relief, "We gotta talk."

"Now? We gotta talk right _now_?" Mudmask was running his words together quickly, as he often did when he was several drinks into the night. Bron released the doorknob in his hand and made his way down the hall.

"Yes right now!" Bron pointed his finger downward three times in rhythm with his words, taking a moment to shoot another paranoid look over his shoulder. "Listen, man, there's something-"

"Shh-tsshh-tshh!" Mudmask hissed through clenched teeth. With a reluctant glance behind him, he let out an exaggerated sigh and stepped out into the hallway, making an effort to close the door quietly behind him. For the scant amount of clothing that his costume had been comprised of, the troll was now wearing even less. The rush-ka and jewelry were gone, and the kilt had been replaced with a towel, which he clung to securely with one hand.

"Aw for fuck's sake, dude..." Bron shook his head.

Mudmask ignored his friend's judgmental stare, "Can I _help_ ya, Bron?" He squinted as he leaned himself against the wall, an effort that further betrayed his lack of sobriety - the slight stumble in his step confirmed it.

"Yeah, you can get dressed, and we can go. Something weird is going on..."

"What kinda weird?"

"Like... like... I dunno, man. Just weird. I was downstairs arm wrestling and then everyone just... got... all _weird_." Bron waggled his fingers in the direction of the stairs in demonstration.

A slow smirk emerged on Mudmask's face as he listened. He started to chuckle, "Ya got blokes hittin' on ya down there, B?"

" _No_ ," Bron fixed the troll with an angry glare, "but think about it - why is everyone wearing those masks?"

"It's a party, Bron," Mudmask replied patiently as though he were talking to a child.

"Noooooo, but how come we didn't get masks? And how come we've never seen anyone eating or drinking since we got here?"

"Bron..." he was massaging the bridge of his nose with his free hand, shaking his head.

"Muds, _fuck_ , listen - do you even remember getting invited to this party?"

"No, but the way I'm going, m'not gonna be remembering much o'anthing come mornin'."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

"Come on, just hear me out. Do you recall anything at all before we got here?"

"I remember us slingin' around Undercity. We were sayin' we wanted to find a party, an' we

did, now here we be."

"Yeah, but _how_?" The orc pressed, "Who gave us the invitation? How did we wind up out here?"

"Listen..." the troll splayed his hands in an effort to hush his companion.

"Yeah?"

"I don't know."

Bron's hands waved about in the air with frustration, the words rushing out of his mouth in an angry hiss, "Neither do _I_ , dude, don't you find that kinda strange?"

Mudmask's face scrunched up into a pained expression, clearly annoyed with the topic, "Yeah, okay, yeah, mon, it is. It is strange. But can we maybe go considerin' these things later?" He looked imploringly back at the closed door behind him, "Like really, gimmie a fifteen."

Bron opened his mouth and hesitated, knowing that what he was about to say would sound outlandish. "Muds," he began reluctantly, "I don't think that's Miû in there."

The troll lowered his ears, his brows knitting together, "What?"

"Think about it - why would she be all the way out here? Why would any of the guys we've run into tonight be out here?"

"It's a party," Mudmask repeated, "Better than hangin' around Undercity."

"They wouldn't _be_ in Undercity, they wouldn't be _here_. Think about it, you know I'm right!"

"Okay," the troll began again in that same patronizing tone, "s'posing you're right..."

"I _am_."

"Uh-huh," he put up a hand to still Bron's enthusiasm, "Just _supposing_ that you're right - how d'ya want me to go back in there an' explain why I'm suddenly gatherin' up my clothes and takin' off?" He pointed his thumb at the door.

"Well it's not like that's actually _her_ in there, make something up," the orc crossed his arms stubbornly. The two stared at each other in silence for a moment. Mudmask's good eye scanned up and down Bron's face, searching for any sign of a ruse. When he found nothing beyond the orc's pleading stare, he let out a sigh.

"Give me fifteen minutes."

"Muds-"

"JUST," the troll held up his hand, "lemmie see if I can make sense of some a'this, yeah? Somethin' to prove that things are actually goin' funny and it en't you just bein' a weak-ass bitch with ya booze?"

" _Fine_ ," Bron huffed reluctantly.

" _Great_ ," Mudmask agreed, "If I find anythin' weird, I'll meet ya in the foyer, kit on an' everything ready to go."

"And if you're not there in fifteen minutes?"

"Then have another drink, find yaself a lass, and I'll see ya in the mornin'."

"Muds-" Bron began to protest.

"Oh for fuck's sake, mon, I'll be downstairs. I'll be downstairs in fifteen fuckin' minutes a'ight give a fella a break." The words came out all at once while Mudmask clenched his hands into claws, strangling the air in front of him.

"Okay," Bron nodded, eyes fix on the troll's face. "Okay," he repeated, this time with more resolve. He shot a glance back down the hallway at the stairs. "Fifteen minutes man, then we're outta here."

"I hope you're right about this," Mudmask sighed. He shook his head and turned back to the door, opening it gently. Bron watched him disappear back into the room, hoping very much that he wasn't right at all. The orc made his way back towards the staircase. He had barely begun his decent towards the doorway when he noticed something quite, quite wrong.

A sea of eyes stared up at him, hollowly beaming at him from behind the assortment of masks. It was as though everyone from the dining room had packed themselves into the vestibule and then invited everyone else in the house along. All of them were packed shoulder to shoulder at the bottom of the stairs, all facing him, all very still. Bron stopped mid-step, gaping at the sight.

"Uhhh... huh," he coughed, the sound elapsing into a nervous sort of chuckle. "What's... what's going on, guys? Still wanting that rematch?" he asked. The party goers nearest to the stairs began to ascend them, slowly, eyes never leaving him. Bron took several steps back. "C'mon dudes..." he held up his hands, gesturing to himself, "Shaman, right? Don't make me pull out the guns here." His threat did little to stop them, and as they climbed closer and closer, Bron began to back his way further down the hallway. "I mean it," he continued, "cut the creepy shit or I'm setting stuff on fire. Possibly you, so everyone just chill out."

The first row of them had reached the top of the stairs, and still they stepped towards him. Bronlin felt his hands grow hot as he reached out to the elements. In one quick motion he lashed his hand outward, sending an arc of flames towards the crowd in warning. A small wail immediately radiated from the horde as they backed away from the fire, but suddenly one of the members - Bron realized that it was the orc woman from downstairs, began to thrash her head back and forth. The others backed away - her mask had caught on fire. Instead of screaming, the woman was emitting a low whine, like steam being pushed through a punctured pipe. After several ineffective shakes of her head, she raised a calm hand pulled the flaming mask from her face. Bron's heart nearly stopped.

The face beneath the mask was not a face at all. There were no shining golden eyes, no nose or mouth - just a smooth, fleshy surface where all her features should have been. Bron stared stupidly at the spectacle, unsure of what he was witnessing. He continued to gape even as the rest of the crowd began to trudge towards him again. "Well..." he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else, "fuck."

Eyes fixed on the crowed, he reached out and clenched his fist around the handle of the door he had knocked on before. He tried to turn it, but again it did not budge. "Fuck," he said again, releasing it. Suddenly, from behind the door there was a thump, and then a giggle. As much as he did not want to, Bron wrenched his gaze from his pursuers and turned toward the door just as it swung wide open. Something from inside grabbed him and pulled, and then Bronlin Ok'pug disappeared into the darkness.


	4. Part 4 - A Reveal

Bron awoke to a musty smell in his nose and a vicious cramp in his shoulder. He flexed his arms but they were secured tightly to the chair he was sitting on. Even from behind closed eyes the room was spinning. He cursed himself for drinking so much and tried to focus on breathing steadily. Opening his eyes did not make the situation better - he found himself in a room with a knotted wooden floor and dirt walls. Cobwebs stretched out from every corner, but upon closer inspection Bron noticed that several odd charms hung from the ceiling as well.

There was a table at one end of the room - upon it rested a sizable chunk of crystal resting upon a stack of books. The table also stored a collection of bowls, plates, and cutlery, and some random tools the orc did not recognize. More curiously was what lied next to the table; several large boulders were collected in a heap upon the ground, each of them inscribed in bands of intricate runes. A circle had been drawn around the pile with great precision, decorated with the same runes that were etched into the stone. Was he underneath the house? How had he gotten here? He picked at his memories, trying to recount the series of bad decisions that he'd made in order to wind up here. Behind him he heard a soft thud, like the closing of a book. He wasn't alone.

"Well, that didn't take long, glad to see you're awake." He whipped his head around, immediately regretting the resulting shoot of pain from behind his eyes. As his vision cleared, the face of a woman came into focus. No mask, no formal attire, but he did not know her. Her eyes were aglow, her skin a smooth, velvety shade of purple. She looked young, but Bron was beyond guessing the ages of night elves. The dress she wore was simple, made of muted green silk and trimmed with gold. A book rested on her knees, hands upon it as though she expected to return to it at any moment.

Bron had several questions, though he supposed they were all different iterations of the same one. "What is all this?" is the version he settled on, using Common.

"It's a bit of a temporary set up, actually," she looked around almost as though she were embarrassed, "That's the thing about the Plaguelands - not a lot of homes left in decent condition, need to work with what we have." Her voice was feathery, distant, as though her mind were somewhere else.

The orc frowned, he didn't feel much like playing a game of dancing around questions. "No, I mean why am I here? What the crap is going on?"

"Oh," her mouth made a thin line as she looked him up and down, "well, that's because we needed two people, and you and your friend are idiots."

"What do you mean?" He asked, "Where's Muds?"

"Mmmm, still upstairs, I guess," she sounded bored, her eyes wandered upward, "Val had to go up and help, seems like he was causing some trouble."

Bron was quickly tiring of her casual tone, speaking like he should know damn well what was happening. He tested the strength of his bonds with small jerks of his arms, but it appeared that whoever tied him to the chair had known what they were doing. Before he could continue trying to eke answers out of the strange girl he heard a door slam from somewhere above him.

"Ah, there he is..." the slightest of smiles flicked across the elf's face before she picked up her book and opened it, eyes scanning over the pages calmly as though nothing was happening at all.

There were several intermittent thuds, a great deal of grunting, and then an angry, growling voice - "I said get _off_! The _fuck_ is this, let go! Fuckin' filthy goat-legged - ah!" A loud bang, and all the while the sound of something scraping along the walls. As he appeared around the corner he was flanked by two large draenei from the party. Right away Bron recognized one of them as the draenei he had arm wrestled, except the mask had been torn away at some point, revealing nothing but smooth surface underneath. Mudmask thrashed in the grip of his captors, kicking a foot against the door frame to stop them from shoving him inside.

It was hard for Bron to judge just how glad he was at the arrival of his best friend. He was near-naked save for a pair of boxers, and at some point during his journey downstairs his bottom lip had been split open, the blood filtering down to stain the white hair of his beard. Bron watched as the large troll continued his struggling, but the blank-faced draenei reached up and thrust his head downward, the other draenei using the moment to shoulder Mudmask through the door. " _Enough_ with the shovin'!" He growled, trying vainly to turn himself around as they held his hands at his back. " _Vekk-a'la_ , ya faceless- ahf - fucks! _N'galara_! Son of a bitch!" For as much 'trouble' as he was giving them, it didn't seem to deter them much from twining a long cord of rope around his wrists. He continued to spit curses at them, only half of which Bron understood.

Such was Mudmask's belligerence that Bron nearly missed the two new women who blustered into the room. Neither were wearing masks, nor were their faces blank, but they were adorned in the same robes as the night elf. The first was a worgen, amber-eyed with smoky grey fur. Her ears were back as she rushed in behind the draenei, lips slightly pulled back in a frustrated snarl. She was followed by a tall troll woman with green skin and even greener hair that stuck out in all directions. Her shining pink eyes burned with disdain at their captives, but she seemed more annoyed than angry. The night elf continued to read her book, nonplussed.

"Oh good, Ghana, I'm glad you've had some time to relax," the worgen rolled her eyes with exasperation, raising her voice so she could be heard over Mudmask's shouting.

"He just woke up, Val. It's not like he was going anywhere," the elf responded calmly through the noise.

"Can ya tell your friend to calm down?" Bron's attention snapped back in front of him to find the troll regarding him with a hard stare.

"What do you want me to do?" Bron sneered indignantly, "Guy's upset. So am I, actually."

A moment passed as she stared at him and then she shook her head impatiently, turning her attention back towards Mudmask. She briskly approached the other troll and withdrew a handful of something from her robes. She splayed her palm and blew a flurry of powder into his face.

"Sssssshhhhhiit!" Mudmask hissed through clenched teeth, squeezing his eyes shut as he buckled, "Fuckin' hells, woman would ya leave me be with that stuff?" Whatever discomfort the powder had caused was enough to subdue his flailing so that the draenei could finish tying his arms behind his back. They forced him down into a chair and began to secure his ankles.

The troll woman ignored the volley of obscenities and looked at her companions, "When they be finished, go ahead an' prepare him first."

"Are you sure, Ish'ti?" Val questioned from her place at the far end of the room, keeping far away from the action, "I think we're supposed to take the orc-"

"Oh yah, m'sure," Ish'ti shook her head, disgusted, "I've had enough o'this one's mouth for the night."

"Hey hey!" Mudmask snapped, face still painfully scrunched as he tried to open his good eye, " _You're_ the one who was posin' as the girl I wanted to mouth. Don' go blamin' me."

" _Excuse me_ ," Bron raised his voice, "Prepare him for what? Take the orc where?"

Ghana spoke up again, using the same calm, disinterested voice. "You two get the privilege of helping us with our new investment," she nodded her head in the direction of the boulders.

"That?" Bron asked, "I hate to break it to you but it seems like you bought a pile of rocks."

" _That_ is a golem," the worgen smiled wickedly as she crossed her arms. "It requires the energy from two souls to power - one for the golem itself, and the other for the soul stone that activates it," she gestured to the crystal on the table.

"Wait wait wait..." Bron looked from the women to the rocks and back again, concern etching its way onto his face, "you're going to put our souls into that thing?"

"Specifically yours will be occupying the golem and your friend's will take up the soul stone that goes into it," this time the Ghana did not even look up from her book as she spoke.

"Uhhhh-huh, hold up," Mudmask interjected, coughing slightly as the draenei finished securing his restraints and made to depart the room. "We're gonna be needin' to talk that one out. I got this strict policy of always stayin' outside of my friend."

The troll, Ish'ti had already crossed the room to the table, picking up the crystal to retrieve one of the books from beneath it. With an irritated flick of her hands she began scanning through the pages. "Considerin' ya situation, you're not really entitled to make negotiations," she turned her lips up in a distasteful snarl.

"En't negotiations m'looking for, woman. At this point I reckon I be entitled to wring ya neck." He bared his teeth back at her, still attempting to wrench himself from his bonds.

"You two lovebirds want to cool it?"

Both trolls snapped their attentions to Val, still standing in her corner out of the way. Something about their identical hate-filled stares nearly made Bron laugh aloud. "Oh yah, Val?" Ish'ti snapped, "m'sorry what have _you_ been doin' the whole night?"

The worgen splayed her clawed hands, "What have I been doing? I've been moderating the whole party!"

"Ghana's the one who conjured all the guests," Ish'ti argued, still flipping through the book in her hands. From her seat Ghana gave a delicate little wave.

"Yeah, but who's been making sure the glamor on the house was maintained?" Val defended, "Besides, who helped you with getting _that_ one under control?" She gestured to Mudmask.

"I was handlin' the situation fine," the troll woman said coolly.

"Nah ya weren't," Mudmask gave a shake of his head, sneering.

The comment earned him another nasty look. "This is why ya be the lucky one goin' first," she uttered. Turning back to her book, Ish'ti finally ceased her search and rested the displayed pages on the table. She took up the crystal in one hand, and reached out to pick up a small vile with the other. "Val and Ghana? Care to join me?" She asked as she stepped towards the captive troll.

Bron had been steadily trying to work his way out of his bonds. The attempts he made to call fire to his hands had failed. His connections to the elements were dampened here, whether it was something the women had done to the house or simply a product of his drunken status, he was unsure. He looked up; Mudmask was trying vainly to push himself and the chair he was tethered to backwards. "Hey! Ladies, c'mon here..." Bron called out to the group as they began to surround his friend, "Why are you doing this?"

"You're the ones who answered our invitations," Ghana said, matter-of-factly.

"Better than sittin' 'round Undercity, eh?" Ish'ti leered at him before turning back to Mudmask.

"Don't touch me, ya damn - ah!" This time the troll woman moved too quickly for Mudmask to even brace against the onslaught of powder that she blew into his face. As he reeled from the assault, the night elf and the worgen grabbed each of his tusks and tilted his head back.

"No! Don't!" Bron yelled, but there was little he could do.

With one smooth gesture, Ish'ti grabbed the male troll by his beard, jerked his mouth open and poured the contents of the flask down his throat. He choked loudly as he tried to wrench himself out of the grasp of the women. He was still coughing as the woman before him raised the crystal in front of her and began to chant.

"Cantoi, ah lah, nik-anar, ra-gal..." The milky crystal in her hand began to pulse with a faint glow. She closed her eyes, the worgen and the night elf joining her, "Cantoi, ah lah, igana, ro-lek..."

Bron watched transfixed as the stone slowly floated upward from the woman's open palm, sluggishly levitating several inches into the air. Mudmask was still trying to twist his head out of their grip, all the while making efforts to spit the remnants of the vile liquid out of his mouth. They ignored him, persisting in their recitation. The strange words almost seemed to echo within the small room, though they were surrounded by nothing but packed earth.

"Cantoi, iliaren, po-sah..." The stone was glowing more brightly now, but from its suspended position it began to move. At first it was a vibration, almost like shivering, but then it began to tremble more violently. Ish'ti's brow had begun to furrow, teeth bared slightly as she raised her voice. Bron opened his mouth to shout at them, anything that could serve to interrupt or distract, but just as he did so, a strange reverberating whine began to radiate outward from the crystal. All three women abruptly stopped their chanting and opened their eyes. The crystal shuddered, the glow sputtering like a flame caught in the wind. Ish'ti reached out a concerned hand, and after a fleeting moment the light within the stone blinked out, and it collapsed back into her palm.

"Shit..." Ish'ti muttered so softly Bron nearly missed it. He watched the other two women as their expressions melted from anticipation to confusion.

"What is it?" Val whispered back.

"Fuckin'... just... this isn't gonna work on this one," Ish'ti was shaking her head impatiently. If she was trying to hold back the frustration in her voice she was not doing well.

"What? Why?" The worgen flattened her ears, eyes darting from Mudmask to her companion.

The troll woman was frowning and shaking her head, clearly reluctant to speak the reason aloud. Instead, it was Ghana that filled in the words, "The only reason why something like this wouldn't work is if his soul has a claim on it."

"You can't be serious," Val shot a look to Ish'ti.

"It appears dat be the case," the troll woman confirmed, pressing her lips together tightly.

"Okay," Val relinquished her hold on Mudmask's tusk, "This... THIS is _exactly_ why I said no trolls! Ish'ti, you of _all_ people should have backed me up on this. You trolls are always signing your souls away, promising them to whatever damn gods you have!" The worgen paced across the room as she ranted.

"They're called 'Loa'," Ghana corrected calmly.

"Who CARES what they're called!" Val growled, turning to Ish'ti as though she were the primary source of blame, "now we've gone through all this trouble and we're a soul short of getting that thing working!"

"Chill ya ku'ca, Val, we'll find som'un else," Ish'ti snarled back at her.

"That so, Ti? What's that going to take? Another trip to Undercity? We told Professor Emelius that we'd be ready for the presentation tomorrow morning!"

"Well maybe if you'da come with me ya coulda been there to offer your opinions, since ya have so many!"

"You _know_ I don't like Forsaken, Ti!"

In the midst of their arguing Bron noticed that Mudmask was trying to get his attention. The orc and the troll met eyes and exchanged uncertain glances. Bron made a display of tugging at the ropes, followed by a bewildered shrug. There was a pause, and after a moment Mudmask's face lit up with an idea. He shot another look to the three women, Val and Ish'ti were still engaged in their shouting while Ghana observed them with a quiet sense of boredom. When he turned back to Bron his good eye had turned to a striking shade of gold. He gave the orc a reassuring nod.

Mudmask's shape shifting was instantaneous. No sooner had the women turned at the sound of snapping ropes than there was suddenly a very large tiger taking up a portion of the room. The cat emitted a low growl, immediately crouching to attack. Yet for the simultaneous looks of surprise that crossed all three of their faces, the women did not hesitate to respond. As Mudmask lunged towards them, a bolt of arcane magic spewed forth from Val's hands, shunting itself directly into his chest. He was knocked back, landing hard on his feet and immediately bounding forward again. This time, a barrage of ice from Ghana slammed into him from the side. The sheer force of it was enough to send the animal across the room, where he collided with the table in a catastrophically loud crash. The books and tools were sent flying in several directions. Bron watched helplessly as Mudmask scrambled to his feet. Frost clung to his fur where the spell had hit him, but he seemed otherwise uninjured. The tiger's tail whipped back and forth angrily, his gaze darting between each of the women to gauge who might attack next.

"I'm hoping this further proves my point about trolls!" Val spat, sending another barrage of magic toward the cat. Mudmask narrowly dodged the volley and rushed at the trio a third time. Ish'ti raised her hands, fingers contorted towards the ceiling. A sudden, overwhelming hum filled the room, and the ground in front of the cat burst into a barrier of flames. Mudmask balked, skidding to a stop, and before he could fully recover the troll unleashed a fiery boulder that sent him sprawling into the captive Bron. The chair he occupied careened backward and he yelped in surprise as it tipped and fell.

Bron heard something crack as he hit the floor. At first he was certain that it was his arm. He shifted his weight to test it, noticing how the chair back wiggled along with his movements. It was the chair that had broken, not his arm! Bron increased his struggling, hearing the wood splinter as he forced his arms free. The ropes fell away as his pulled himself to his hands and knees. A plume of blue fire whizzed past him - another attack meant for the tiger that was rampaging around the room. Bron spun to find the female troll priming her next attack as Mudmask joined the orc at his side.

Try as he might, the elements still did not answer him as he called. Amidst the chaos his hands scraped the ground for anything he could use as a weapon, but all he found was a small dagger with a short, wide blade. Sharp as it was, it was useless in the shaman's drunken hands. He struggled to his feet and whirled around before she could fire again. He waved he dagger about, hoping that maybe it held some surprise magical property that would spring forth and assist him, but no such luck. He was about ready to throw the damn thing out of desperation, when suddenly his eyes settled on the open door on the other side of the room.

"Move! Door!" He shouted to Mudmask, kneeing the tiger hard towards the exit as he pitched himself to the ground to dodge the wave of fire that scorched its way into the wall behind where he had stood. Bron sprinted after his friend, bursting out into a dark corridor and immediately slamming the door closed behind him. Dagger still in hand, he stabbed it into the lock as an afterthought, hoping that maybe jamming the door could buy them some time. Bron spun around to find Mudmask already positioned at the end of the hallway, looking back at him from the bottom of the stairs.

"Fuck, right?" The orc shook his head in bewilderment at the tiger, "Let's get out of here."

Together they quickly lugged themselves up the stairs and reached for the doorway to freedom.


	5. Part 5 - A Night

Bronlin Ok'pug and Mudmask burst through the door, and were bewildered to find themselves in the empty kitchen. No guests, no food, no people at all. What had once been a clean, warm, bright place was now dim and cold and caked in a layer of dust. "Shit," Bron cursed in exhaustion as they entered the room, making sure to close this door behind him as well. The tiger that was Mudmask buckled on the floor slightly, and with a heavy shake, his body contorted back into his troll form. Propping himself upon his hands, Mudmask promptly threw up onto the floor.

"Uhhhhg, fuck," he panted, using a table to pull himself to his feet. "Fuck, this is why I don' shift when there's drinkin' involved."

"You alright?" Bron asked, nervously keeping his eyes on the door. "You know, after that lady did that thing?"

"Which thing? The surprise me when my kit's off thing? Or the blind me with the fuckin' dust thing? Or the shovin' shit down my throat thing?" He was still gripping to the table as though his entire vertical status depended on it, eyes shut tight as he steadied himself. "There's been a lot, B."

"We need to get out of this house," the orc prompted, "they could get out of that room any second."

"I know, I know, I know," Mudmask shook his head, the motion strangely cat-like, "M'fine, let's go."

The two stumbled their way into the dining room, relieved to find a lack of party patrons. The entire house seemed quiet, empty, and in a far shabbier condition than either of them recalled. They rounded the corner back into the foyer - mercifully also devoid of any signs of life. Bron wasted little time jogging to the front door and yanking on the handle. ...It didn't budge.

"No, nooooo, no no no," he thumped his head on the wooden surface as he tugged at the useless doorknob. Somewhere behind him Mudmask let out a curse.

"They be fuckin' with us."

"Yeah, I _know_ ," Bron pounded an angry fist on the door as he turned back around, "they've been fucking with us all night, dude."

"M'too drunk for this," the troll leaned against the bannister of the staircase. Bron couldn't recall the last time he'd seen Mudmask look so miserable, or so old.

"It's okay," Bron said. Feeling too drunk himself and not knowing if he truly believed the words or not, he repeated them, "It's okay. They're just three, powerful mage ladies who we pissed off by ruining their evil plans, we've faced off against worse."

"Witches."

"What?"

"They be _witches_ , mon. Like angrier, nastier mages."

Bron rubbed at the back of his neck as he tried to consider the thought; it was absurd. "Listen, we can figure this out, we can -" he paused. Mudmask was staring past him with a terribly grim look on his face. Bron turned around, facing the door opposite of the dining room. "...Oh, oh shit."

They weren't wearing masks this time. In fact, some of them weren't even wearing proper clothes. A sea of smooth, blank faces... even without eyes there was no doubt that they were staring. The crowd began to pour into the foyer, headed for them.

"Iiii-uhhhhh-fuck. Back up plan, we're running, let's go!" Bron grabbed Mudmask by the shoulder and practically dragged him alongside up the stairs. Together they tripped and fumbled their way to the second floor. Once there, Bron shouldered Muds to the left and with no hesitation the two jogged the length of the hallway and rounded the corner to the right.

Before them was another, identical hallway, lined with the same white doors with the same brass knobs. They continued to sprint down it, flying past each one in a blur. The end of this hall split off into two directions, each offering two more dim hallways. Bron surged forward to the left, but a hand gripped the collar of his coat and jerked him to a halt. The orc yelped in surprise, whipping around to find that the hand belonged to his friend. Mudmask stood, hand tightly clenched around the fabric of Bron's jacket while staring fixedly down the hall with a look of concern.

"What?" Bron whispered, trying to keep his voice down.

"Shouldn' be house there..." Mudmask uttered, lungs heaving slightly with the effort of running.

Bron's brow furrowed, looking wildly from his friend to the hallway. ...Mudmask was right. Considering the turns they had taken, and how far they had run, this hallway would have extended beyond the confines of the house walls. This passage shouldn't have existed at all, but there it was, stretched out before them with its assortment of identical white doors. "What the fuck..." he breathed. He could hear the sounds of countless footsteps down the hall behind them.

"What do we do?" Mudmask whispered.

Bron jerked his head to the right hallway, the technically "correct" hallway, "That way, go."

He led them several strides down before he came to a stop at one of the doors. It was no different from any of the others they had passed, and as he reached out to turn the knob, he found himself expecting it to stay fixed in place, as the others had done. This time, it didn't. This time it twisted and the door cracked open. Bron shot a questioning look to Mudmask, who shrugged, and the two ducked into the room beyond, closing the door quietly behind them.

Moonlight filtered in through the singular window, revealing the space to be a small bedroom. The bed was wedged into one corner, facing a large mirror that was bordered by two lanterns. There was a chair, and a modest reading table, but otherwise it was fairly plain. Bron held his breath as he pressed his ear to the door, listening for signs of the crowd on the other side. Mudmask began to pace restlessly across the room.

"Dude," Bron whispered, still leaned against the door, "can you take a seat for a sec? You're making me antsy."

"Makin' ya antsy?" Mudmask cocked his head to one side, " _I'm_ makin' ya antsy? What about the hallway? What _was_ that, Bron?" He continued to pace, brows knitted together as he looked at their surroundings. "Never seen anythin' like that," he was shaking his head worriedly back and forth.

"It was just... an illusion or something... I don't know, man," Bron shrugged with exasperation.

"These women en't gonna let us leave, B."

"We'll figure something out," the orc assured, feeling the emptiness of his own words.

"What about the golem?"

"What about it?"

"If ya get near it can ya...?" Mudmask raised his hands, mocking the gestures Bron used while wielding his elemental powers.

The orc shook his head in discouragement, "I dunno man, the elements haven't been answering me all night. It's this house or something, I can't hear them."

The troll dropped his hands, "Well can ya try?"

"You think I haven't been?"

Mudmask let out a huff of air and moved to the window, pushing his hands against the frame and letting out a frustrated growl when it refused to budge. He wrenched himself away from it angrily and resumed his pacing. Bron turned his attention back to the door. For a moment he swore he heard a faint shuffling on the other side, but his focus was once again broken by the troll.

"Fuck. Oh fuck, Bron, please tell me I en't seeing this..."

Mudmask was backing away from the mirror on the wall, the color drained from his face. At first when Bron looked to the mirror he saw nothing alarming at all, but suddenly he realized that was just it - it's what he _wasn't_ seeing that was the problem. Bron pushed himself away from the door and approached the mirror. He had no reflection, Mudmask had no reflection. He knocked at the glass, staring transfixed as a large white shape wandered into his view. He spun around to find Mudmask holding up a pillow from the bed. From the mirror's perspective, the pillow was simply levitating in midair.

"Allll right, let's... leave this room, shall we?" Bron stepped away from the mirror, his arms feeling tingly as every hair upon them stood on end. He made his way to the door, reaching out for the handle, and was immediately surprised when his hand passed through it. Both companions gasped.

"Bron are we dead?" The words spilled out so quickly Bron almost didn't understand them.

"No?" the orc scrunched his face uncertainly.

"Shit," Mudmask dropped the pillow, now pacing more quickly. "Shit shit shit," he repeated frantically.

"Muds, chill out for a second," Bron pleaded, wanting to keep his own sense of anxiety in check.

"B, what if we're dead? What if we're _dead_ , Bron? _Bron_. I can't be dead. That's really gonna screw some stuff up for me, this can't be happenin'..." the words were pouring from his mouth now. Bron wasn't sure if he was more disturbed by the recent events or by the sheer panic he was witnessing coming from his best friend.

"Dude, c'mon, we gotta try to keep our heads here. Let's just calm down, and try to fig-"

" _Stop_ tellin' me to calm down!" Mudmask snarled, all the while still persisting with his hurried rushing back and forth. "Trapped out here in the middle of nowhere, buncha crazies tryna' put our souls into things, there be impossible hallways leadin' who knows where, an' now we're'"

"Muds-"

"Dead, Bron. Somehow they got us an' now we're dead and I'm in huge, huge-"

" _MUDS_." Bron stalked over, quickly bridging the gap between them and raised a fist, slugging the troll squarely on the upper arm.

"Ffffffffuck!" The word hissed out from between clenched teeth. Mudmask's face contorted into a silent snarl and he hunched over, rubbing at the spot Bron had hit.

"Did you feel that?" Bron whispered angrily.

"YESIfuckingfeltit!" Mudmask seethed.

"Good. Now simmer the fuck down." The two stared at each other for several moments, fury on each of their faces. "You know, none of this would have happened if you hadn't been so damn stubborn about getting your drunk ass laid."

"This wouldn't have happened at _all_ if ya hadn't dragged us to Undercity for this stupid holiday."

"Oh, I'm sorry, the allure of free booze and chicks dressed in costume just not good enough?"

" _Not_ when the chicks are tryin' to _kill_ me, Bron."

" _That's_ not on me, man! I was just trying to find us a party!"

"And you _did_ , and now we're dead."

"We're _not_ dead!"

"May as well be!"

"Fine! That's how you want this?" The orc threw up his hands in exasperation, "Then I guess _I'll_ be escaping on my own since _you're_ too focused on figuring out whose fault this is."

Any response Mudmask might have had was cut off by Bron spinning around to face the door. He reached out to grab for the knob, his fingers wrapping around the cold, smooth metal. Such was their surprise that Bron's hand did not pass through the handle that both troll and orc forgot their bickering. Instead the two of them gawped at the door stupidly, unsure of what to do next.

"See?" Bron grinned, nearly laughing from the sense of relief he felt, "Not dead! Told you!"

Mudmask wasn't smiling. "What be the plan?" he asked, gaze flickering briefly to the orc. He was still clutching his sore arm, but any trace of anger had now melted away into a hopeful sense of awe as he stared at the door.

"Well..." Bron kept his hand on the knob as he spoke, afraid that if he let go he wouldn't be able to grab it again, "...It's three lefts; that should get us back to the stairs. If that door down there doesn't want to open, we break a window to get out. Then we're outta here. Then we're running."

"What about those... thingies out there?"

Bron pressed his ear to the door, straining to hear any signs of life. "I don't think they're out there... Maybe they got bored and left." He flashed a half-hearted smile. Seeing that his friend was not in the mood for joking, he let out a sigh, "Either way, we gotta open this door if we want out."

"I know, I know," Mudmask nodded, moving himself behind Bron and shaking out his arms, readying himself.

"You want to get your stripes on for this?" Bron asked.

"Not if I can help it," the troll scrunched up his nose in distaste at the thought, gaze never leaving the door.

"Okay then. Here we go." Bron turned the handle and swung the door open, "we got this, man, let's do -"

They were staring at the kitchen. It wasn't possible, but there it was, in all its dim and dusty splendor. If it was an illusion, it was an impressively vivid one - even the spot where Mudmask had thrown up was part of the presentation.

"Well... shit," a breathless laugh escaped the troll as they stood, "This is bad, yeah?"

"I. Have had. ENOUGH of this!" Bron exploded, bursting into the kitchen. Upon reaching the nearest counter he slammed a hand down. The wood beneath his fist splintered. "ALL right, ladies!" he called out in a booming voice, "OKAY! No more games! My friend and I just came out here to have a good time, and now we are _drunk_ , and we want to go _home_. You really want to get in the way of that? You want our souls so bad? Well come fucking get them, I'm done running!" He punched the counter again, sending a satisfying crack reverberating throughout the room.

"Bron..." Mudmask started as he stepped in after the orc. No sooner had he left the bedroom than the door whammed shut behind him. Both friends jumped in surprise.

Where the door had closed, the wall was suddenly just... blank. No door, no frame, no sign it had been there at all. With a degree of alarm, the two realized that all around them certain details of the room were disappearing. What had been the cooking pit melded into the floor, leaving nothing but a few scattered pebbles. The counter tops receded into the walls, and with them gone, the lanterns followed. The doorway that lead into the dining room buckled and seemed to zip shut on itself. Bron and Mudmask stood bewildered, watching their surroundings grow barren. After several moments they were standing in a plain, sterile-looking room with no discernable features at all, save for one door - the door to the cellar. It opened as they looked at it, revealing the rickety set of stairs that led down into darkness. The silence was invitation enough - if they wanted out, they had to return to the cellar.

Bron clenched his fists down at his sides. "They're just mages..." he spoke in the direction of the door, addressing himself more than his companion.

"Witches," Mudmask corrected again, quietly.

"Yeah, well, I reckon they're about as susceptible to getting punched in the face as mages are."

"If we can get near 'em."

Bron looked up at his friend, the look on his face almost apologetic, "It's not like we have a choice."

One corner of Mudmask's mouth twitched upwards in a semblance of a smile. "Well," he huffed, gesturing at the door, "ladies first." Despite himself, Bron smirked.

The two friends once more descended into the depths of the cellar, heads hung slightly like youngsters that had been called by their parents for a scolding. The witches were not hard to find; from the look of it they had not left the basement room at all, considering that Val was in the midst of diligently reorganizing the work table from the mess Mudmask had made. The night elf, Ghana, was still holding her book but her eyes were trained on the two men when they walked in. Ish'ti was staring too, but despite her calm exterior the troll's pink eyes were burning with a silent sense of fury. The golem still slumped uselessly in the corner.

Bron squared his shoulders, brandishing the cockiest grin he could muster, "Well, this is awkward."

"What it _is_ ," the troll woman snapped, stepping forward, "is a _nuisance_. As if your friend didn' waste enough of our time, then we gotta waste more of it chasin' ya around."

"Wasn' exactly our idea of a good night either," Mudmask murmured.

Ish'ti fumed. Bron interrupted, "Yeah, well, no more chasing. You want our souls and you're going to have to fight for them." If the time spent running had done him one service, it was that Bron now felt far more sober, and it was to his relief that as he called out to the elements he could hear them answering. Their response was dim, very dim, but he felt it - like tiny pinpricks in his hands.

"I think we've moved past that now," Val had turned from table, the reflection of light in her eyes creating an eerie glow.

"We're just going to kill you," Ghana clarified in her soft, practical voice.

From that moment, several things happened at once. The witches stepped forward. Bron brought up his hands, hoping the elemental spirits would take the cue. He could feel the heat in his fists, hoping it was the promise of their assistance. Bron was accustomed to assuming lead and taking the first hit. He could deflect it, he was ready – but as the night elf emitted an incandescent bolt of arcane magic, it propelled past him. At first the orc assumed it was a clumsy mistake, but a strange yelp cried out from behind him. He spun around – the beam had shunted itself into Mudmask's chest, knocking him into the wall. Before either friend could react, a chill swept through the room. A trail of ice crystals spewed from Val's clawed hands, whipping towards the troll in a frigid ribbon of cold. He was in the midst of pushing himself away from the wall when the force of it him. Frost rapidly began to collect between him and the wall, creeping its way along his back and arms. The ice began to cake at his feet as well, the ice fragmenting out in vicious cracks as it spread. In seconds the troll was pinned in place. He let out a frustrated, pained roar as he tried to tear himself away from the rime.

Bron's heart dropped. Of course, they thought Mudmask was the danger. A new sense of horror was added to this realization as a bright flash was emitted from Ish'ti's hands. The whorl of fire cannonballed towards the troll, who scrunched his face tightly to brace himself from the attack. Bron dived for his companion, reaching out. His right hand intercepted the fireball, and with a whooshing gasp of air the flames enveloped his forearm. The orc held it there; skin feeling hot but not burning. With a swift closing of his fist, he snuffed the flame out, throwing back an exultant look to the still struggling troll.

"A SHAMAN," Val violently slung her hands down to her sides, snarling at Ish'ti, "You didn't check THAT either?"

"I can't just TELL these things, Val!" The troll spat back, the fire dancing in her eyes.

"The friggin' _Thrall costume_ wasn't enough?"

As the witches snapped at each other Bron reached out to the spirits of water, pulling at the ice and quickly melting it. No sooner had Mudmask slid from the wall than a bright pink flash exploded next to his ear. The troll dipped downward, and Bronlin turned around to see a swirl of fire spinning in his direction. He raised his hand to deflect it, and with a swing of his arm he cupped the flame and lobbed it back. Though it was poorly aimed, all three women ducked at the unexpected volley.

Mudmask chose to use the opportunity as a chance to find cover. He dove beneath another one of Ghana's arcane bolts, frost still clinging to his fur. Bron did his best to follow, not wanting to allow the trio of mages to separate them. Upon reaching the table, the troll seized it by the ends and flung it sideways. Val let out a chagrined howl as all of her cleaning efforts from before were once again scattered to the ground. She hurled a bitter wall of cold in their direction, the air glittered with fang-like shards of ice. Suddenly there was a hand on Bron's shoulder, and he was pushed down to the floor. Mudmask thumped down beside him, using the upturned table as a barrier between them and the witches as the shards bit into the wooden surface like daggers.

Bron cloaked his arm in flames, peeking over the edge of the table to launch a more offensive attack. Ish'ti was the first to respond - with a twist of her hand the tongues of fire were choked out. Another twist and Bron was ducking back down to avoid the explosion that crashed into the wall behind him.

"Shit!" he cursed under his breath, "Ladies, c'mon! Give us a break here!" His eyes scanned the room wildly for anything he could use against their assailants, but all the tools had been strewn to the opposite side of the table. It was as he hazarded another glance around the table edge that his gaze landed on the lifeless earthen golem. He yanked his head back before the witches could shoot once more, looking wildly up to his friend. "I need you to distract them!" he whispered, voice nearly lost amidst the loud hum of magic in the air.

The near-naked man stared back at him, incredulous, "You're joking."

"Muds -" another explosion hit the table, jolting the two companions as a large crack appeared in their make-shift shield. Bron's expression was piteous, " _Please_ , man, I need you to trust me."

For a brief moment, Mudmask's face softened, and then he turned, pulling himself into a crouch. "Fine," he gave a fated look towards the witches, his mouth formed into a grim line as he spoke, "Try not to let them kill me, yeah?" Before Bron could respond the image of the troll beside him rippled slightly. He shook like an animal trying to clear its fur of water, and with little hesitation the tiger that stood where his friend had once been leapt over the table and rushed at the three women.

There was a tremendous amount of yelling. The thrum of conjured magic swelled within the small space, making Bron feel as though his head was being squeezed. He took in a few deep breaths, training all of his focus on the golem. The earth spirits were want to take their time with the orc's requests. For a few several seconds nothing happened, but slowly one boulder began to move, trembling as though heralding an earthquake. The heavy thing twitched, and then spasmed; it was resisting. Bron wondered if there was something about the golem itself that was repelling his own magic. As though in response to his frustration, the rock suddenly heaved upward, slamming into the ceiling with a crack before tumbling back to the ground with a stubborn thud.

Everyone in the room paused to look at the golem, including a haggard looking Mudmask who was both half coated in frost and smoking from a singed section of his mane. The witches then simultaneously turned to look at Bron, clearly displeased at his efforts. Bron watched the arcane magic begin to form from Ghana's hands, but a cacophonous roar from Mudmask broke her concentration, and once again she spun her attention back to the large cat. Bron reached out, trying again.

The impact from the boulder had left a concerning hole in the ceiling. Dirt and dust trickled from the opening. The walls around them seemed to groan. The rock Bron had managed to move before twitched again, swiveling. A second boulder followed, then another. Now they were moving together, but the force the orc held was unwieldy, like trying to pick something up without using his hands. The strain of moving the entire thing as one unit was enough to set his muscles shaking, but still he pushed until the hulking mass of earth stood. It slumped like a drunken puppet, the smallest rock that made up its head sluggishly lolled back and forth.

"No!" A furious voice called out. Bron's eyes widened as a vortex of flame swirled towards him. He brought a hand up to shield himself, which caused the golem to swing its own fist upward in a poor mirroring of the orc's actions. It hit the ceiling again, this time sending a shower of splintered wood cascading to the ground.

This time there was a collective flinch from everyone as the house above them shuddered and creaked. The noise itself was immense, accompanying a seismic tremble that sent all eyes in the room looking upwards with uncertainty. When Bron looked back to the room again, he found the troll woman staring at him, face contorted into a vicious snarl. Not quite thinking, Bron thrust his fist upward and the golem responded.

"You idiot, what are you-" She began to yell, but the golem's fist had found its mark once more. The surrounding ceiling crumbled into large pieces, several of which landed on the golem's head with little effect. The room above was visible now.

"Muds!" Bron shouted to the tiger, head nodding frantically to the way out that he had just made. Using what was left of his strength, he pushed his arms upward, causing the golem to reach up and brace its stony hands against the ceiling to keep it from collapsing entirely.

Mudmask followed the line of his gesturing just as Ghana flung another attack his way. The acrid ball of magic hit him in the shoulder, yet while his leg buckled, he still limped forward, eyes never leaving the hole. There were more pieces of the ceiling falling now, not just where the golem had punched. Bron could hear the cracking of a support beam. The charms that had been hung from the rafters swung wildly about. The witches were yelling, but Bron could not tell if they were cries of distress or curses of hatred. He watched at Mudmask reached the corner of the room and bounded upward, claws scraping against the golem's surface before he disappeared into the dark above.

Several long seconds later, a pale blue arm shot back down into the room, grabbing wildly at the empty air. Bron… wasn't sure he could move without losing control of the golem. A thick wooden beam splintered, one end stabbing itself into the dirt floor in front of the three women.

"Ish'ti, we have to get out of here!" Val called out amidst the upturning dust.

"Not worth it!" Ghana coughed, "Leave them!"

Ish'ti's hateful eyes had not wandered from Bron. They continued to bore into him as he dropped his arms. The golem began to crumple. Bron sprinted for the corner of the room that housed his escape. Somewhere behind him he heard an enraged scream, and then a sudden rush of heat as a swath of fire licked at the air past his head. The golem was falling, and so was the ceiling. He pressed a sandaled foot down on the bottom-most boulder and lunged upward, grabbing for the hand that reached out for him. Mudmask heaved upward to pull his friend through. Once on the other side, his hands scrabbled across the floor, lugging his legs up and out of the cursed basement.

"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon!" Mudmask rushed, helping him to his feet. Bron looked around – they were in the kitchen… dim and decrepit, but all the doors were there. All around them the walls were tremoring, pieces of them flaking off in large chunks.

They were in the kitchen. And then they were in the dining room. And then they were in the foyer. The glass chandelier had fallen, shattered into millions of stars between the dual staircases. Everything was coming apart. When Bron reached for the door, he expected it to stick… but it didn't. Instead it practically sagged off of its hinges. A woosh of cold air met them as they ran out into the night.

They kept running. The sounds of the discord behind them swelled in their ears, making it feel as though the whole forest around them was collapsing in on itself. They ran until they reached the gate, and even then Bron practically ripped the door from the ground as they scrambled to get away from the house. Only when the gate had clanged shut did each of them take pause. Mudmask was the first to collapse into the grass, chest heaving as he rolled onto his back. Bron followed suit, lowering himself to the ground with a weariness that made him feel ten years older.

There were several, almost sickening crunching sounds, and the two looked up to watch as the house buckled and sagged to one side as the basement floor gave out. A wall of dust plumed upwards from the crumpled corner, looking like a thick fog in the night. Even had a portion of the house not collapsed, looking at it now it barely resembled the manor the boys had stepped into. There were no lights along the path, no silhouettes in the windows. It even seemed smaller… much smaller. The big wooden front door now looked like little more than several planks fashioned together. For a while, the two remaining party-goers sat in silence.

It was Bron that broke the quiet. "That… all just happened, right?"

"How about ya ask me that in the mornin'?" Mudmask was nursing a wound in his side. His lip had split open again, which only minorly served to detract from the large purple bruise that was forming on his right brow. His blind eye was neatly swollen shut.

Despite everything, the orc started to chuckle, "You look like shit, dude."

Mudmask smirked, still passing his hand over his wound, "Yeah, well, ya en't lookin' so hot yourself, friend."

Bron knew he didn't have grounds to argue. The side of his jaw felt raw and blistered from where the troll witch's final attack had scraped him. He lifted a hand to find that a portion of his beard had also been lost to the flames. His jacket was smeared with unequal portions of dirt and blood.

"Those mages... witches-whatever. You think they made it out?" Bron asked, eyes scanning across the barren front yard.

"I don' know, and I en't checkin'." Mudmask was shaking his head, looking up at the stars.

The orc sneezed a small huff of amused air. "Told you people'd recognize the costume…" he commented softly, smugly.

The troll nodded in big exaggerated movements as he gingerly began to sit up. "Yyyyep, B, at least ya got that outta the night." With several untempered grunts he pulled himself to his feet, and held out a hand to assist his companion. "Ya satisfied?" he asked with a tired smile, "That mean we can go home?"

"Yeah, let's do that." Bron nodded, letting Mudmask pull him to his feet. They walked slowly as they started down the path away from the house. After several paces, Mudmask reached his hand down to habitually pat at the place where his pocket of tobacco should have been.

"Ah, shit," he cursed softly, looking down at the kilt that wasn't there.

Bron could help but grin, "You uh… you cold?"

"Awww shut up, mon," Mudmask tried to sound angry, but instead he started to laugh. "An stop lookin' at my nipples."

"They are at _eye-level_ , dude, c'mon," Bron splayed his hands out innocently, flashing a reassuring smile. "Let's just hope there's clothes in Brill."

"M'hopin' there's cigarettes in Brill," the troll mused.

"I hope there's _food_ ," Bron let out a wistful sigh.

Side by side, the two limped their way back towards Lordaeron, and back towards home.


End file.
